


through victory

by tristesses



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fighting Kink, Force-Sensitive Qi'ra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 06:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16057373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: Qi'ra learns a lesson.





	through victory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



Qi'ra could sense him circling her: the near-silent pad of his feet against the dirt, the whispery shift of the fabric of his clothing, even his breathing, controlled and quiet. She stood blindfolded in the center of the training camp, crouched on the balls of her feet, ready to lash out the instant he drew close.

Maul would be disappointed with her, she knew, for using thieves' tricks and observation to track him, and not the latent Force powers he had sensed within her.

  
_Weak_ , his voice sneered inside her head, and her lips thinned. That wasn't him invading her mind, not this time; that was just a memory.

 

* * *

  
_"Weak," spat Maul, casting her aside with a heavy shove. Qi'ra stumbled, caught her balance, pulled herself up tall and proud. "The Force is with you, but it is weak."_

_"I've been told I'm weak before," Qi'ra countered. Her side was throbbing where he'd shoved her; stars, he was strong! "And yet here I am."_

_Maul's eyes narrowed. He glanced her over—an evaluating glance, not lecherous, like she was used to. Then he did it again._

_Not lecherous, no. But maybe—_

_She could use this._

_"Yet here you are," he agreed._

_Qi'ra did not smile. Now was not a time for smiling. But she met his eyes, and she_ reached out—

* * *

  
Just as she did now, reaching out with her mind and grasping at the edges of his, in her mind-vision a crimson, bleeding thing with raw razor edges. She felt bitter amusement, a trace of disappointment, before she was slammed back into the dirt by an invisible force, hard enough to knock her breath out of her.

"Qi'ra, Qi'ra, Qi'ra." Maul loomed over her. She pictured him in her mind's eye, a shadow blotting out the sun. "So controlled. So unemotional."

"It's how I survived," she wheezed, sitting up. Maul slapped her back down with a heavy hand and she hit the dirt again, curling around her injured cheek. "You can't be sappy if you're going to—"

"Have you learned nothing?" Maul demanded. "Where is your anger, Qi'ra? Where is that which fuels you, that which gives you life?"

 _Locked away,_ she wanted to say. _Locked away from you_.

It was dangerous to let men know what she felt for them—the contempt, the disgust, the anger. Oh, the anger! It was what Maul wanted; he wanted her to vent that anger on him, but Qi'ra couldn't reach it. She had spent so very long bottling it up, keeping it secret and close. To let it out would be—

 _Freeing_ , a voice whispered in her head. Her own voice.

She'd never known freedom. Her whole live had been spent in bondage, to one master or another. It didn't matter who, in the end. She'd known, even when she assumed command of Crimson Dawn, her life was still not hers to live for herself. But it was enough. It was enough.

Then a sudden, mind-splitting pain ripped through her skull, and Qi'ra screamed.

It was Maul; she sensed that quickly enough, he'd invaded her mind before, but it hadn't been like this. If before it had been more akin to sex, perhaps walking that slippery line between seduction and coercion, now it was violent, brutal—a rape of her mind. He tore through it and plucked the strings of her connection to the Force like an instrument, and she felt his scowl when they did not resonate to his satisfaction.

And it was this, more than any beating he had given her (and she still bore the marks from his lashes on her back), that sent her anger spiraling out of control. Her body was a vessel, but her mind was hers.

With a wordless scream, Qi'ra pushed back, letting her anger drive her for once; and oh, it really _was_ freeing, wasn't it, to strike without holding back, without concern for the aftermath.

Maul made a noise of pain as she struck back, scraping against his invasion with the Force, dark and languid. It was, she sensed, pleased, somehow; happy to be used, the ache like muscles that had been long unused. Or maybe she was projecting. It really didn't matter.

Qi'ra staggered to her feet and into the Sleeping Krayt stance, muscle memory working in conjunction with this new wave of power sweeping over her. Maul laughed, and she heard the snap-hiss of his lightsaber igniting.

She leapt at him, striking hard and fast, without mercy. He was stronger than her, had more stamina; she had to kill him now before he killed her, using her slightness and speed as offense. Her foot collided with his chest and she kicked up, crashing her heel into his chin, leaping back just before the lightsaber sliced her open at the ankle. It was close enough she could feel the heat from the blade. No matter; she couldn't stop. Instinct drove her into the Death Weave, a maneuver that had her dart between each slash of the lightsaber, peppering his body with strikes that would have been lethal to a human. On a Dathomirian, they only hurt.

But it was enough to wound him, and his breathing turned ragged. She hoped he bled.

It was like sex, this battle; she was full of the same energy, the rush of power she felt when she teased out shudders of pleasure from powerful men who could, with a word, have her killed; men like Dryden Vos, who she had held in the palm of her hand, a dangerous spider that would bite when provoked. It was a thrill, it was arousing—it was a weapon.

She took that feeling and grabbed Maul's mind with hers, pouring it in until his mind was brimming with her own sense of power and desire, and then she tore off the blindfold and rushed him.

Spitting Rawl, the most powerful attack in Teräs Käsi, and not one she'd ever told Maul she knew. He didn't expect it—not from her, not from small, weak Qi'ra—and when she ducked under his lightsaber and her fists connected with his temples, he went down.

That wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for him to go down; he had to submit, and she knew from experience just how to make a person submit.

Maul was on the ground, his lightsaber in the dirt several feet away—not that distance mattered to a Sith Lord. Concentration did. Qi'ra hiked up her robes, pinned Maul's wrists above his hand, and straddled his face.

"What are you—no!" he snapped, but Qi'ra ground herself against his mouth before he could protest further. She wished she could hurt him—wished she had a cock so she could make him choke on it.

"Do it," she hissed, and used her weak mind to press down upon his, making him obey. The Force pulsed through her, a river instead of a creek. She had never felt so powerful before. "Make me come."

She sensed resignation in him, and a disconcerting streak of pride, of all things, before his hands gripped her thighs and his mouth opened, licking at her through her undergarments. Then a bite against her thigh, hard and unmerciful; Qi'ra screeched and dragged her nails down his horns, a muffled roar coming from between her legs as he tried to jerk away.

"Not this time," she said, and ground down harder. "You don't get to hurt me this time."

It wasn't his tongue that got her off, not even the grinding, but the exhilaration flooding through her, the sense of dominion over him the Force gave her. Qi'ra cried out and shuddered, squeezing her legs tight around his head, and slumped over him when she was finished.

Then he was whipping her around and slamming her into the dirt, the cold metal of his leg thrust between her thighs, and Qi'ra thought, Oh, so it comes back to this.

She struggled, but whatever had driven her had leaked out of her like tears. Maul pinned her down and examined her face thoughtfully. She set her jaw and glared up at him.

"Do it," she spat. "Just do it."

He laughed, then, and released her. Qi'ra scrambled to her feet the instant his weight was off her, brushing the dirt from her clothes, wary.

"You're learning," he said. "Well done, apprentice."

Then he turned and left her alone.

* * *

  
It rained, that afternoon. Qi'ra sat in the shower, in the mud, and opened her palm to the water. It coalesced in her palm until she tilted her hand and let it splash down into her lap.

She shut her eyes, concentrating, felt the cold water against her skin and the pulse of her fury and shame in her chest and then the rain was no longer touching her, spattering against the shield she had erected with the Force.

Slowly, Qi'ra clenched her fist.

_Through victory, my chains are broken._

_The Force shall free me._


End file.
